An interpretation of the bip

[Sepia]

and: Rant4


He tried to improve his sight. ¬®LISTEN. Stop the competition. Stop the braincells scuttering onward to your pineal gland, soul, aura or wherever your holiness lies. Stop the gibberish. Stop the words, stop the planning. You've seen too long and listened too little. Sit down. Light that joint. Open that beer or that gallon of fuel. Talk about Eris. See? Now you're thinking of a member of the Simpsons family or you're thinking about that highschool crush, sixteen years old and masturbating to Illuminatus! And next day you wake up and you're smiling because your pineal gland, soul, aura, brain, liver or glass of champagne had sex with itself for the first time and you think you've seen something and you will interpret it. Do not operate heavy machinery. 

They will sell you. You will be sold and bought like anyone else. You are not where you think you are untill you do it, untill you break those bars of your selfinclined black iron prison, your imagination is where you are. You are in the prison, do not operate heavy machinery, you may bend or break some bars. It's not really bad that the black iron prison exists as a metaphor or as reality, but it can tend to blinden some because there are so many prisons to break through. There is no nirvana when you get your first revealation or as such will you probably talk about it because it fits best and is most natural to the mix of knowledge from subconsciousness and consciousness. You thought you broke free when you swallowed that red pill, was this vacation time, was this, hey, I did it atleast, I broke free from the pack of sheep and you're this little misunderstood emogirl, sitting in the rain next to a statue, with converse and hot topic surrounding you and she listens to tool and she thinks she's so great because she can do SOMETHING about maynards incoherent and uninteresting blabbering about SOMETHING and she can separate herself from her pack. And be eaten.

It is when you begin to stray that it all begins and you've probably been there, all those sad sad victimized poor people who is the lesser in one or several aspects.  They don't even have a name, the shit underneath your heel, mashed chewing gum and stickers from a rally, still visible are the words usa usa how many kids did you kill today and then you stop just outside a starbucks because that logo reminds you of someone, someone great, one of those who wrote history, one of those who made it. You think about the trials of Galilei and the awkward silence that followed da Vinci around.You're getting there, but getting there slow so you think about those words that have echoed sometimes in your skull, as above so below, you apply it to your reasoning and you think. What if it's just the same? What shit did Einstein have to put up with? What shit did Hendrix have to put up with? Everything changes except the bars to your prison and those who came to visit you to tell you there were other ways die as you grow old. It spoke to you of changing directions but you kept hearing them as laudible voices so you shut it out. You didn't want anyone to know you were hearing this but every day and night they called your name, in the beginning it sounded like the words from your love and soon you were left with echoes of a longlost marriage and you felt the desperation rasp up your spine like someone indeed walked over your grave and in the end, before you go to sleep you hear their ghastly voices of the roads you never walked upon.
Everything sits there in your shelves, stocked away and reduced to trinkets. Ibsen, Orwell, Steinbeck, Django Reinhart, 1001 Nights, the Crass, Klangstabil, the Beatles, PJ Harvey, the collected Marx Brothers, 28 days later, Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle and Stalker all had something to say to you but all you saw were pretty pictures. So what the fuck are you going to do now? Accept that the struggle has gone on for eternity and it's not really your struggle? Kick back and wait for that ding from the microwave?

It's going to turn shit real soon. Sour like only milk can be. It's like your house, you remember still when you bought it, the smell of professional cleaners and a floorwaxer and you live there, you get cats, dogs, children, spouses, those little cups you for some reason collected when you were a kid, the donald duck stickers, mickey mouse, animated in plastic and chrome singing happy birthday marilyn style and you still got that nice little zapruper replica where you could swing that wheel and see the president get shot with all possible angles from all possible killers and you grow old, you wear white socks inside your sandals, your skin is a wee bit paler than your khaki pants and your black leather belt which was a gift from your son and a tired old t-shirt you got when you were hunting for polarbears in the streets of Helsinki. You're still paying off your mortgage but you're at the end soon, you'll have it done by next year and you're feeling kinda swell and mighty proud. You're proud of your kids, your wife, your dog Rufus and your cat Snowball 5 and your rabbit, which you named after a forumgoer to a forum you frequented way back and this is a good day, you can feel it in the marrow of your bones, you feel like all the tarot cards in the deck, you feel grand and you put on the sacred chao necklace you have by the window in the kitchen and you walk out and you see Eris and she says «Welcome to the black iron prison».

And you mutter: «but...but..initiaion never ends..!»

[nurbldoff]

*Applause*

[Sepia]

filter the = persistent vegitative state?


Haha.

[P3nT4gR4m]

Sepia = Killing me softly with his rant

[LMNO]

The only comment I would have is a personal one:  More paragraphs.  Dense text makes for a more difficult read.

[Jenne]

Perfect encapsulation.  Wow.

[BADGE OF HONOR]

I keep trying to read this but the solid wall of text is mesmerising.

[Sepia]

edited for readability. the original had some lines of <blank> but I guess I forked the ctrl insert shift insert.

I'd also be interested to hear something from the bip contributors regarding the text whether it's "This is shit, yuo = fail @ lyfe" or any sort of feedback, destructive or constructive.

[LMNO]

Ok, I took the liberty of editing it a bit.  Hope you don't mind.


________________

He tried to improve his sight.

,ÄúLISTEN. Stop the competition. Stop the brain cells scuttering onward to your pineal gland, soul, aura or wherever your holiness lies. Stop the gibberish. Stop the words, stop the planning. You've seen too long and listened too little. Sit down. Light that joint. Open that beer or that gallon of fuel. Talk about Eris. See? Now you're thinking of a member of the Simpsons family or you're thinking about that highschool crush, sixteen years old and masturbating to Illuminatus!

,ÄúAnd next day you wake up and you're smiling because your pineal gland, soul, aura, brain, liver or glass of champagne had sex with itself for the first time and you think you've seen something and you will interpret it. Do not operate heavy machinery. 

,ÄúThey will sell you. You will be sold and bought like anyone else. You are not where you think you are until you do it; until you break those bars of your self-inclined black iron prison, your imagination is where you are.

,ÄúYou are in the prison, do not operate heavy machinery, you may bend or break some bars. It's not really bad that the black iron prison exists as a metaphor or as reality, but it can tend to blind some because there are so many prisons to break through.

,ÄúThere is no nirvana when you get your first revelation or as such will you probably talk about it because it fits best and is most natural to the mix of knowledge from sub-consciousness and consciousness. You thought you broke free when you swallowed that red pill, was this vacation time, was this, hey, I did it at least, I broke free from the pack of sheep and you're this little misunderstood emogirl, sitting in the rain next to a statue, with converse and hot topic surrounding you and she listens to Tool and she thinks she's so great because she can do SOMETHING about Maynard,Äôs incoherent and uninteresting blabbering about SOMETHING and she can separate herself from her pack. And be eaten.

,ÄúIt is when you begin to stray, that it all begins and you've probably been there, all those sad sad victimized poor people, who is the lesser in one or several aspects.  They don't even have a name, the shit underneath your heel, mashed chewing gum and stickers from a rally, still visible are the words, ,Äòusa usa how many kids did you kill today,Äô, and then you stop just outside a Starbucks because that logo reminds you of someone, someone great, one of those who wrote history, one of those who made it. You think about the trials of Galilei and the awkward silence that followed da Vinci around. 

,ÄúYou're getting there, but getting there slow so you think about those words that have echoed sometimes in your skull, ,Äòas above so below,Äô, you apply it to your reasoning and you think. What if it's just the same? What shit did Einstein have to put up with? What shit did Hendrix have to put up with?

,ÄúEverything changes except the bars to your prison and those who came to visit you to tell you there were other ways die as you grow old. It spoke to you of changing directions but you kept hearing them as laudible voices so you shut it out. You didn't want anyone to know you were hearing this but every day and night they called your name, in the beginning it sounded like the words from your love and soon you were left with echoes of a long-lost marriage and you felt the desperation rasp up your spine like someone indeed walked over your grave and in the end, before you go to sleep you hear their ghastly voices of the roads you never walked upon.

,ÄúEverything sits there in your shelves, stocked away and reduced to trinkets. Ibsen, Orwell, Steinbeck, Django Reinhart, 1001 Nights, the Crass, Klangstabil, the Beatles, PJ Harvey, the collected Marx Brothers, 28 days later, Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle and Stalker all had something to say to you but all you saw were pretty pictures. So what the fuck are you going to do now? Accept that the struggle has gone on for eternity and it's not really your struggle? Kick back and wait for that ding from the microwave?

,ÄúIt's going to turn shit real soon. Sour like only milk can be. It's like your house, you remember still when you bought it, the smell of professional cleaners and a floorwaxer and you live there, you get cats, dogs, children, spouses, those little cups you for some reason collected when you were a kid, the donald duck stickers, mickey mouse, animated in plastic and chrome singing happy birthday marilyn style and you still got that nice little zapruper replica where you could swing that wheel and see the president get shot with all possible angles from all possible killers and you grow old, you wear white socks inside your sandals, your skin is a wee bit paler than your khaki pants and your black leather belt which was a gift from your son and a tired old t-shirt you got when you were hunting for polarbears in the streets of Helsinki.

,ÄúYou're still paying off your mortgage but you're at the end soon, you'll have it done by next year and you're feeling kinda swell and mighty proud. You're proud of your kids, your wife, your dog Rufus and your cat Snowball 5 and your rabbit, which you named after a forum-goer to a forum you frequented way back and this is a good day, you can feel it in the marrow of your bones, you feel like all the tarot cards in the deck, you feel grand and you put on the sacred chao necklace you have by the window in the kitchen and you walk out and you see Eris and she says ,ÄòWelcome to the black iron prison,Äô.,Äù

And you mutter: ,Äúbut...but... Initiation never ends..!,Äù

________________________


Comments: I like the sense of building opression, the list of "things" making up the walls that are closing in.  I like it's developing sense of incoherence and run-on sentences.  This reads like someone about to crack, somone who's just about to get it.  I can't find fault in it, other than the use of the word "laudable" halfway through.  I keep think you mean something else.

[BADGE OF HONOR]

Okay, now that's pretty glorious. 

[Sepia]

Up to my head in examstuff at the moment but that looks pretty darn nice LMNO. You know you can do anything to my texts anytime you want

I'll get back with more intelligent replies as I get home..

[LMNO]

Sweet!  I got an A2M.

[Laz]

That's some good old fashioned telling it like it is Sepia, i just hope you live by your words.

In response to your call for feedback here's a little something of my own, written before i came across the moniker BIP...

So i'm back again, back at the start of it all. Back in the shit and the anguish.

Why am I not learning from my mistakes, why is the world repeating itself over again?

One thing I have learned over previous experiences of this reflective spinning, is that there is a kind of distance from me and these feelings. I am able to observe the paths I choose and reflect upon them while i'm in them. Last time I was only aware of the repeating nature of this experience, so maybe that's progress!

I seem to be preoccupied at the moment with the path of the rebel. I can see me becoming a rebel once again, and largely it is under control, but it has escaped once this wek without me realising it. I caught myself after an outburst of rebelliousness, but it was too late by then, the deed was done. I had dared to care about a situation and it temporarily blinded me, I foolishly thought I was doing the best for my friends and those around me.

Actually that reveals in me a second preoccupation with a stereo type, that of the injustice fighter. Why do I feel the need to see mself as a super hero who can save the day? that's one for the pot I think...

It's weird, fighting injustice and incompetence are underlying themes and seem to be motivating factors in my life. When I do, it invariably perpetuates this spiral.

The impact of this restting of the universe in my head does seem to be lessening every time, and a I do think I am learning more each turn. This knowledge stays with me through a reset and maybe helps lessen the blow.

I wonder if everyone has these cycles, and regardless of new jobs, new cars, new homes, and new people to live with, in their heads they are forever repeating the same actions and feelings. One could probably plot the events that happen and trigger the feelings, i'm sure I could draw a diagram of the circle of my universe, maybe I will.

I also had a realisation yesterday that, while I tend to see my actions as heroic and strong, from another perspective they could be seen as pathetic and weak. It's a horrible thing to face, that everything you do or say can be regarded as anything other than the way it was meant. No matter how justified you feel your actions are, there could be a good percentage of people whos heads are wired differently and will see just the opposite.

The angry office worker who shouts at his manager, the person with road rage behind you on the motorway, the woman in a supermarket who crys to get attention and sympathy of strangers, the animal activist that breaks into a compounds and frees the animals, the student that lies down in front of a tank and refuses to move, the suicide case that teeters on the narrow railing of a bridge. All of these are personal crusades that will seem justifiable and maybe necessary to the individual, but the vast majority will not understand and moreover will judge wrongly because of their perspective.

Everyone has their litle universe spinning round and round, repeating over and again in their heads, and no-one, no fucker out there realises that they will repeat those thoughts until they die and while the situations and people will change, the problems will not. They'll end up doing the most crazy things that will be fully justifed within their private universe but no other living being will be able to understand their actions.

There is only one answer, to break this cycle, and there is only one way to do it; learn about it, remember it, prevent it happening again. Which reminds me, i need to do some more learning and recapitulating.



One of the results of a detailed recapitulation is genuine laughter upon coming face to face with the boring repetition of one's self-esteem, which is at the core of all human interactions

Carlos castaneda.

[LMNO]

That built up some momentum as it went, Laz. 


6/10.  The East German judge thought it was a tad "live-journal-ish", whatever that means.